No Looking Back
by JustAFlick
Summary: First installment in the Dreamwalker Series. Han and Leia go on their first mission together during which our favorite princess has a startling realization. Set in the Never Will I Ever universe between A New Hope and The Empire Strike Back.


Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm. My only profit from writing this story was awakening the force within myself!

Note: These little ditties from Leia's POV started out as a way to understand her better and to let off a little steam between large swaths of _Never Will I Ever._ But, then they took on a life of their own. Turns out Leia's head is a very interesting place to be. I'd love to hear what you think of them!

* * *

My head snaps up. I'd almost nodded off, but find myself aware now in the copilot's seat of the Falcon. The Falcon? I swivel to the left and find Han. Of course, he'd be here. But, what am I doing here? I can't for the life of me remember.

The ship shakes and I look out the window suddenly realizing we are in the middle of a battle - blaster fire is coming from all sides, streaks of red and green flying across the transparisteel.

"What's going on?" I cry.

Han turns toward me, and the shocked look on his face is priceless.

"What are you doing here?" He yells, over the roar of the attack.

"I don't know!" I wail. I grab onto the armrests for support as the whole ship shakes.

Suddenly a blaster hits home and the transparisteel buckles before us tearing open fantastically. I scream, expecting it all to end…but nothing happens. In fact everything is quiet now. I peak through my hands and gasp at the sight I see.

It is a grassy field, under a hot blue sky. Beautiful flowers sway in the wind and waterfalls roar in the background. Was that what I'd been hearing?

Han is staring as well, mouth slightly agape. "Must have crash-landed. Don't have a clue where we are. Nav's gone."

I shake my head, completely at a loss, but Han is already rising.

"Come on," he says, holding his hand out to me.

I stare at it, somehow hesitant to take it.

"I won't bite," he says, smirking down at me in his favorite way.

With determination, I place my hand in his and the electricity is instant, searing. He stands staring at me for a moment, feeling it too. Then he turns and leads me through the tear and out into the world before us. It is more beautiful than it seemed a moment ago. The colors are incredibly vivid, the sounds and smells intense.

Han continues to hold my hand, walking us through the waist deep grass. He is wearing black, an outfit I've never seen before. Every once in a while, he looks like someone else. But, then he glances back and smiles at me, all Han.

"Where are we going?" I ask, content to let him lead.

"You'll see," he says.

We come to the edge of a waterfall. I can't remember how we've gotten here. Weren't the falls above us a moment ago?

"Whaddya think?" Han asks, pulling me closer to peer over the falls.

"What?" I yell, nearly deafened by the thunderous cascade. There is so much water, so much power below us.

"Think I should fall?" Han yells back.

Before I know it, he is diving and I am tumbling after him, down, down, down...

I wake with a gasp, clutching the sheets to my body. I feel my arms, my hair, sure they will be sopping. But I am dry, safe and alone.

What in all the worlds was that?

A dream, I realize almost instantaneously. It was a dream. About Han.

* * *

I forget until I see him again. Then it all comes rushing back, the crash, the field, the waterfalls. Heat rises in my cheeks and I'm sure I'm blushing. What I'm not sure of is why. There was nothing inappropriate about the dream, nothing untoward. And yet...

He looks over at me, finally noticing I'm here.

"Hey there," he says, turning fully towards me, pausing in his work.

"Hello..." I suddenly can't remember what to call him. I don't know when we're using names or titles these days. Sometimes it's Princess and Captain, other times Leia and Han. Of course that isn't taking into account all the nicknames in between.

He looks quizzical, and I realize I've been silent for a long moment.

"I'm here on behalf of high command," I say, wanting to make that clear for some reason.

He nods in a 'get on with it' sort of way. I feel annoyance stir and am relieved by it's appearance.

"I'm leading a mission to negotiate the release of one of our pilots. He was taken by the Beemers on Lueshant, and they are asking for a deal."

Han frowns at me. "What are they doing sending you?"

My annoyance hardens into anger as I process this statement. Han seems to notice and puts his hands up in defense.

"Look, I'm just wondering why they'd put you in a risky situation. I'm sure you can handle it."

This appeases me a bit.

"We're all in 'risky situations' every day we spend on this base, Captain."

I go with his title. It seems safer somehow.

He narrows his eyes, but doesn't say anything.

"Anyway," I say, always amazed by the myriad of emotions this man can arouse in me, "I wanted to know - we wanted to ask - if you would pilot the mission."

He smiles, a slow one that reaches his eyes. I want to back away and move towards it at the same time. I stand my ground.

"Why me?"

There are so many reasons. His ship is fast. He's an incredible pilot. He's smart and savvy.

He makes me feel safe.

"You're obviously available," I say, looking meaningfully at the scatter of tools around him. I always know how busy he is by the level of mess. Today it's almost catastrophic, stretching about six metims in every direction.

He smirks and drops his tool in the box nearest him.

"Good enough."

* * *

We're back in the Falcon again. Han is sitting in the captain's seat and I am in the navigator's chair. He gave me the option of sitting on the acceleration couch, but I immediately opted for the cockpit. I have sat on the couch a few times before, but for some reason I always associate it with the day they rescued me. That first quiet moment with Luke.

I still remember so clearly the shattered face of the boy after he lost his mentor. I also remember how quickly his youthful exuberance brushed that loss to the side. It isn't with judgement that I think of it now, more with something like a maternal pang. Young men seem to feel things intensely but quickly, like a passing squall on the seashore in Alderaan.

It all leads back there doesn't it? I see my family's faces rise up like specters outside the transparisteel. Father, Mother, all my aunts. I was raised by a fleet of them. Some relatives, others longtime friends. The Queen of Alderaan had no ladies-in-waiting, but she did have the aunts. I feel a shocking stab of grief at the thought of them. So much of my sorrow is reserved for my father, for our allies, and our cause. I often forget to include the women in my life.

I frown at this and wonder what it means. All my life, I have gravitated toward men. My aunts would always tell me to be more of a lady, more of a princess. They poo-pooed my ambitions of political advancement and real impact. They wanted me to focus on dancing and needlepoint, and if I absolutely must, on horseback riding.

The rush of memories is coming faster now as we jolt into hyperspace. I remember my horse, Pamila. My mother laughed at the name, having never heard it before, but I was insistent. That was what she looked like to me. She was white with large starbursts of grey littering her flanks.

Before I had gotten up the courage to really pursue my dreams, Pamila was my only form of rebellion. I'd ridden her fearlessly, jumping every high fence and winning every competition. There had even been talk of my competing in the professional circuits before things changed.

I sigh, amazed at my own ability to push aside my sadness. It's always there, lurking in the edge of my consciousness. It is dark and pulling, like sucking mud. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I let it draw me in…

But Han moves into my line of sight and the thought skitters away.

Han.

He was surprisingly pleasant during the preparations for this mission. He seemed genuinely interested in the cause, smiling at tales of the talented rebel pilot and giving his two-cents as to the best strategies in approaching his case. If I wasn't so familiar with his other sides, I might even have said we'd make a good team. His cool ingenuity and my impassioned persuasion is a heady combination.

But, he's still Han. Han, the pilot of the Falcon, a smuggler known in every black market circle, quite possibly a con man as well. There had been some talk in the months following the Battle of Yavin that he might be an Imperial Spy. He did seem to get out of a fair amount of close calls with their enemy. Perhaps they were letting him go back to the Alliance to collect more information?

Of course, I didn't believe this. Mostly. Han seemed too forthright to be good at subterfuge. I imagine he would tire of it almost immediately, resorting to playing both sides or just decking someone in the face. He certainly seems to like doing that. With his fist, with a blaster, with the lasers on his ship. But, he doesn't have a temper. Not a real one. Oh he can get raving mad, sometimes at me, but it never has an edge of cruelty or real menace.

It always feels like more of a game, him playing the offended misanthrope, the worlds-wise desperado. And what role do I play? The princess with the stick up her ass.

I cringe a little at my train of thought. Even in my mind, I don't like to sound coarse. I have a chorus of aunts who live in my head, ready to pour shame on me at every turn of phrase.

But it's true. I haven't given Han much to like besides a few opportunities to have a laugh at my expense. First it was because I was crushed, devastated by the loss of my world. It didn't hit me until later, in the nascent hours of dawn as I looked up at the sky and realized, for the first time, that I had no place to go. No place to call my own. No home to return to ever again.

My knees had given out then and hit the slightly muddy grass outside the base. I had just stepped out for some air, having been caught up in the midst of the revelry since the medal ceremony had finished. We all knew this was only the beginning, that we'd be moving bases in the morning, probably to some far, remote planet with awful weather.

But, tonight we would celebrate. Bottles of every shape, size and strength were opened and poured down everybody's throats. The brief thought tickled my mind that if the Empire wanted to strike, now would be a perfect opportunity. But, they hadn't. And they wouldn't. The damage was too extensive.

I still couldn't believe that Han had come back. Part of me had hoped he would, part of me had known he might, but seeing him standing in the midst of the pilots, knocking back drinks with everyone else seemed surreal somehow.

I talk to everyone else in the room. At least it seems that way. I can feel him move towards me sometimes, in a strange sightless way. I just know and when I look over my shoulder or to the side, I can seem him looking at me or his body preparing to move. That's my cue, to start another conversation, to see someone across the room, to escape to a ''fresher.

I don't know why I'm avoiding him. I haven't avoided Luke. We have swapped stories and made plans, solidified this startling connection we already have. I feel like I trust him implicitly, almost as if he were a cousin or a family friend back on Alderaan.

But, the Captain. Captain Solo.

I don't know what to make of him.

He looks over his shoulder in the memory and in reality. He winks at me before turning back to conversation with Chewie. A wink just like the one on Yavin. I feel heat rise in my cheeks and immediately rise from the navigator's seat. We have a few hours now. The cockpit suddenly seems stifling. Besides, I feel the memory tugging at me, wanting me to return.

Han cuts me off as I skirt my way around the dance floor. Some of the pilots have started a series of planetary dances with the few women on base. A few of the couples are two men, laughing it up, but dancing all the same. I've been asked by a couple of the pilots, but I don't feel much like dancing. Then he is there, looking down at me, in my personal space. I step back, crunching someone's toe. I jump at their yelp of surprise and apologize profusely. They notice who I am and immediately warm to me, brushing it off with a wave of the hand.

I turn back fully expecting Solo to have retreated, to have found some other girl to talk with. He's certainly been talking with enough of them. But he's still here, a wily little smile playing at the corners of his mouth, filling his eyes.

"Didn't mean to startle you, Princess."

I immediately start to babble, insisting that he did no such thing. I am shocked at my behavior. I have never been anything but well-spoken and levelheaded. I looked Darth Vader in the helmet and didn't blink. But, in this moment, I feel too many words flow out in a torrent against my will.

He puts up his hands and one of them covers my mouth. My eyes widen. I am shocked by the boldness of the contact, and in my tipsy haze, I am also shocked by how good it feels.

"Just wanted to ask you for a dance," he says, eyes wary now as if my words might strike again.

If possible, my eyes widen further, but I don't protest as he gently pulls me back into the fray. It's a strange dance, originally from Kuat. It requires an intimate weaving and hopping pattern. Of course I know it, I was trained in all the main societal dances by the aunts. But, I'm surprised he does. In fact I'm surprised they are even dancing it, though I suppose the rebels hail from every class and corner of the galaxy.

It's as natural as breathing, slipping back into these steps, and my mind seems to relish the calming repetition. Step, cross, turn, hop, step, cross, turn, hop, lift…his hands are on my waist, completing the cycle and I lose my focus for a flick. Why, oh, why does that feel so good?

I'm back on the ground and the song is ending, we had only caught the tail end of it.

I feel slightly disappointed and am relieved when he stays by my side as a slower song begins. We study each other for a moment. I take a breath, an excuse ready on my lips, but—

"Why the hell not?" he says, pulling me into him.

His arm is about my waist and my hands are already around his neck. His other hand seems a little stranded, at a loss for what to do. I realize I should have held it, that what I'm doing is far more intimate than a traditional hold would have been. I move to take it, but he's already changed his plan. The extra hand is on my shoulder blade, then slipping down to meet it's mate. I seem to have lost control of my body, as a deep relaxation threatens to undo me. I almost feel like I could swoon.

Those drinks must have been stronger than I thought.

He's looking down at me, face a little shaded by the dimness of the room. It is deep into the middle of the night and people are starting to disappear, melt into the darkness beyond the center of the room.

"Been avoiding me, Princess?" It's not so much of a question, as a statement seeking confirmation.

I hadn't expected him to talk for some reason, and I feel a little thrown.

"No," I say immediately, which so obviously means yes.

"Thought you'd like me again after the whole Death Star thing," he says, breath tickling my nose, smelling strongly of spirits.

"When did I ever like you?" The words are out of my mouth before I have time to check them.

He laughs appreciatively, gently squeezing me around the middle.

"Touche, your worship."

We are closer now. He is looking at me, hazel eyes dancing along with us. His hand is moving again, skimming my shoulder, tracing the length of my spine with a featherlike precision. Gods.

"Such a little princess," he says, as if surprised by this realization.

I should be offended, but I'm not.

"How much have you had to drink, Captain?"

One corner of his mouth rises.

"Too much," he replies.

I nod sagely, but don't continue. I'm suddenly unsure what I'm supposed to do with this information.

He pulls me a little closer.

"Drunk enough to do this," he murmurs, almost slurring it against my ear.

He drops a kiss on my cheek, it's lingering, hot and oddly stimulating. The stubble of his jaw scratches me in a way that should be unpleasant but isn't at all.

"Han," I whisper. Something is starting to overwhelm me inside. It's a swell, a storm surge about to break through.

He pulls back, and I almost fall into him as if a magnetic field has activated between us.

"Never heard you say that before," he says, eyes alight in a way that's totally unfamiliar.

"What?"

"My name," he says, leaning forward once more.

My breath catches in my throat, and I'm pulling away, backing into the crowd.

I can't do this. I can't.

I mumble something, about it being late, about how tired I am. Anything to get out of there, away from what I feel.

My body betrays nothing as I weave through the crowd, towards an exit into the cool Yavin air. I look up and try to sort through what I'm feeling. It's as if a dam is breaking inside of me, I can feel the cracks, spiderwebbing out, threatening to burst. I look up searching for some solace, some little pin of light to anchor me to reality. But it's gone. That pin of light is gone forever.

And that's when it happens. When the dam breaks and the pain bursts forth. The thwarted love, the voices forever silenced filling my head and heart with so much agony I can't stand anymore. And I don't. I fall to the earth and lie down, curling up against the pain.

Luke finds me like this. His voice is warm and soothing as he coaxes me into a seated position. He crouches down and looks at me with his sweet blue eyes. He asks me something, but I can't answer. Understanding, he brings me to stand and asks me to point the way to my room. I can feel another presence, somewhere in the periphery, and I wonder…but he doesn't approach, and before I know it we have found my room.

I palm the latch and Luke leads me to my bed, helping me lie down. He stays there for a moment, a moment too long perhaps, but then he presses my hand and makes his way to the door. Once there, he turns and says one soothing word to me.

"Sleep."

And I do.

* * *

I haven't thought of that night for a long time. It was over a year ago now. The worst of the grief has passed, though it still visits me when I least expect it. Like right now I suppose.

It was a one-time thing. That moment with him. The intimacy that stole over us for the length of a song. The next time we spoke, weeks later, he was different. Teasing, playful, aggravating. Challenging. That's our game now. He dares me, and I can't resist rising to the bait.

Come to the mess hall. Stay for a sabacc game. Hold this micro-fuser. Plot this star map. Slowly, despite my coldness and his caginess, we've become something. Friends, perhaps.

He strides into the common area and gives me a salute, on his way to the kitchen. I wait for Chewie to enter the space as well, but the Wookiee doesn't appear.

I haven't spent a lot of time on the Falcon. Han and his ship are often away from the base, on missions around the galaxy, often with Luke in tow. Those are becoming the times I like the least, when they are away. I don't know how that happened.

When they are at the base, we eat together, we talk. It turns out we have more in common than the last day of the Death Star and Alderaan's existence. We're all three people of action, not content to sit on the sidelines. Of course, I've been doing exactly that, partly because of my own inward struggles and partly because High Command is far too protective.

That ends now. It is time for me to rejoin the rebel cause, to pull my weight like everyone else. General Rieekan argues that I have been doing so all year. He reminds me that not everyone should be a soldier, but I feel wrong staying tucked away on the base.

Han reenters the common area with two cups in his hands. He sets one down in front of me and seems to consider whether or not he should slide onto the booth. This is strange, since the booth, the cups, and the ship all belong to him. After a flick, he does sit. There is the length of a body between us, but I can still feel the heat from him slicing through the coolness of space.

"Been a little while, hasn't it?" He isn't good with small talk, and his attempt makes me smile.

"Yes, I suppose it has."

Before I asked him on this mission, he'd been gone about a month.

"Didn't cut your hair, I see."

I've been threatening to do so for the last couple months. It's bothersome to deal with, but somehow I can't part with the last of my femininity. My outfits are anything but girly.

"It's days are still numbered," I say with uncharacteristic breeziness.

He smirks, and his hand twitches, drumming the table next to his cup.

"That'll be a sad day."

He says things like this sometimes. When I'm not expecting it. Those comments always throw me off balance. But they're usually followed by…

"Of course, then I guess you'll finally fit in with the rest of the boys."

A snarky reversal.

I glare at him slightly and take a sip of the caf. It isn't the best I've had but it's better than the brew they serve on base. The days of caf and cake are over I suppose. He does the same as me, looking toward the cockpit. Maybe he's also hoping Chewie will appear.

"Wondered how you were getting along," he says, still not looking my way. This seems to be the closest he can get to asking how I'm doing.

"Things have been busy. And better," I reply. We don't talk about Alderaan or my depression. But, it's something that's silently understood between Han, Luke and me.

"Good," he says, swallowing even though his cup is still sitting on the table.

We don't spend time alone together. This is rare. So rare I don't know what to say. Luke is always there to smooth the edges, to be the mediator.

I stare down at his hands, spread out on the table top. They are big hands, a little veiny, swarthy like a real ship captain's. I knew some of those on Alderaan, the men who sailed the seas that no longer exist. I wonder if his are calloused or smooth.

"Leia," he says, his voice suddenly deeper. I look up towards his face and find him looking at me. I like when he uses my name. It sounds different when he says it than it does coming from anyone else.

"Yes?" I finally prompt him, as he continues to stall.

He opens his mouth, as he considers his words. "Do you play chess?"

It's the last thing I expected him to say so it summons a little laugh. I let it out and nod.

"Well, we've got a little time. How about a game?" he says, subtly relaxing.

I know I could be going over the plan again or doing some educational reading, but I find myself agreeing. Before I know it, we are embroiled in a heated game. Unsurprisingly, we're both on the competitive side. But, it's fun. A lot of fun. More fun than I have had in at least a month.

He teases me, and I give as good as I get. I'm not always in the mood for his brand of banter, but today it fits. He turns out to be a very good player. Of course, he's had some practice. But, after a rousing game (more rousing than any chess game should be), I have him at checkmate.

"You see, Han," I say, having decided that today is a first name day, "it was only a matter of time. You may play dirty, but I play smart."

I smile up at him, and find his expression more serious than I expected.

"Only a matter of time, huh?"

The mood changes noticeably. I realize a little too late that we've been flirting, playing with each other more than the animated pieces. I never act this way and I'm suddenly embarrassed.

"Well," I say, trying to return to the game, "you left your queen unguarded."

His reply is ready, almost out, but Chewbacca calls into the room, and Han starts.

"Kest," he mutters and jets from the table toward the cockpit. "Better strap in, sweetheart. We're about to arrive."

We touch down onto the surface of Lueshant smoothly, without any complications. We were given clearance at the personal star port of the Beermer clan, the powerful mafia family that is holding our pilot. I have no idea what to expect. Part of me feels that things will run as smoothly as our landing did, and part of me is running through every possible negative outcome.

Han and Chewie meet me at the exit, and Han seems to have returned to his relaxed state, smiling at me without any hint of teasing or slyness. It makes my heart skip a beat. He so rarely smiles like that. When he does, he looks like a different person. Or maybe he looks more like himself.

The ramp lowers and I look out into the gathering twilight. It's later than our time on this side of the planet. I don't know what I expect, but it certainly isn't what happens.

"Princess Leia!" the smooth, cultured voice drifts in from the gloaming and I turn towards it like a startled deer.

"Friedrich!" I call back in surprise.

He strides forward into the spill of light coming from the Falcon.

"Welcome to Lueshant!" he calls, "It's been too long."

I am truly confused now, but Friedrich boards the ramp and scoops me up into a hug. He holds it for a bit longer than is necessarily appropriate, and I feel myself start to blush. This is also unexpected.

Unbidden, my eyes seek out Han's over the other man's shoulder and find his good mood gone. Fled. Completely vanished. He is scowling, bordering on hostile, hands clenched at his sides.

"Leia," he grounds out, and the word sends shivers down my spine, "what's going on?"

I honestly have no idea. But, I suddenly don't want Han to know it. He's questioned my suitability for field work enough.

"This is Friedrich," I say gently pulling away from the man, "the pilot we're rescuing."

Han snorts a bit derisively. "Doesn't look like he needs much in the way of that."

Friedrich finally seems to notice the other two people on the platform. He turns, still standing awfully close to me, and greets them cordially.

Han nods dismissively at his introduction and cuts him off, "Mind telling me why you're out in the open like this? I was told," he looks pointedly at me, "this was a rescue mission."

Purposely evading Han's disapproving glower, I look at Friedrich too. He has the grace to seem a bit chagrined now.

"I'm sorry, yes, I understand why this would be confusing," he gestures out into the darkness, and for the first time I notice a few other shapes. My heart hammers a tattoo of warning in my chest. The same sentiment is reflected in Han's features.

"I'm not alone, you see," he explains, "the Beemers are famous for their hospitality. Even towards their captives."

It all makes a little more sense now, and I feel a weight settle in my stomach. Somehow this subtle display of control - allowing Friedrich free reign at the foot of our ship - is more disturbing than open antagonism. Han seems tensed for action. I wonder if he is thinking the same thing I am. We could make a run for it, dodge the fire they'd surely throw our way, get Friedrich and ourselves out of this right now.

But, it isn't really worth it: four lives for one. And if the Beemer clan feels comfortable letting Friedrich roam, they must be confident in their ability to keep him from escaping.

I nod my understanding of the situation. Suddenly I feel cold as if my artificial coolness has become a reality. The air isn't that chilly, but I shiver against it. I glance over at Han and have the oddest desire to move closer to him. The few times I've felt his skin, he's been so warm.

He isn't looking at me, but I know he can feel my focus. His shoulders are tensed, his body torqued away from me. Somehow, his manner makes me feel even colder.

"Well, why don't we get this whole thing started then. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

Friedrich nods and puts an arm out to me, offering me escort down the ramp.

Now I feel Han's eyes on me, our situation reversed, and I understand why he tensed away. The feeling of his gaze is weighty and distracting, like he's pulling me back with the strength of a tractor beam. I try to brush the feeling aside and take Friedrich's proffered arm. The man smiles down at me, looking for all the worlds like we're having a nice spring stroll on Alderaan.

We did, of course, have a few of those.

Friedrich had worked for my father as an aide. The son of a well-known Alderaanian family, he'd had great political ambitions and my father had pledged to help him see them through. Then the Rebellion had happened and along with the rest of our allies, Friedrich had joined the Alliance. But, before any of that, there had been some talk of a match between us, a few stolen kisses under the cherry blossoms that lined the gardens at the spring castle.

So naturally, when I heard about this mission and his situation, I had been eager to assist. Beyond our personal connection, he is one of the few surviving Alderaanians in the universe. I allow myself to bask in this, feeling closer to home than I have in a long time. But my sudden happiness is quelled by the presence behind me. Han is not happy. Not at all.

* * *

We're shown into a lavish mansion that surrounds a beautiful walled garden. It's done in the Lueshanti style with beautiful mosaics and fountains in every corner. I hadn't realized the Beemers were so civilized. Their name always came attached to something not so lovely.

But they are famous for striking deals. That had been why High Command let me come. It wasn't supposed to be complicated - offer them enough money and enough incentives and bring Friedrich home. Of course, there is always the chance our funds won't be sufficient. But, the Beemers aren't known for killing people who don't meet their price point. We think.

Han catches up with me in the garden, grasping my arm while Friedrich is conversing with some of his captors. Apparently, they are arranging a dinner in our honor.

"Princess," he hisses and I tense at the switch, "this ain't what I signed up for."

"You signed up for this mission, Captain," I hiss back, "whatever that entails."

He lets out a huff of frustrated breath, but doesn't release me, even pulling me a bit closer so my hip brushes against his leg.

"I don't like this," he tries at different tactic. "The guy is too chummy with these berks."

I look over at Friedrich and can't help but agree. He's actually laughing, joking with two men in robes. One has a wicked scar across his face.

Han's grip tightens, and I look back at him. HIs scowl is darker.

"You also didn't tell me we were rescuing an old boyfriend." His voice is quiet and dangerous.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Captain," I say, unable to look away.

"Please," Han tosses the word at me like a table scrap, "you think I can't tell?"

And there it is, the thing that keeps me always looking back at him. Something swimming in the depths of his surprisingly eloquent hazel eyes.

"Friedrich and I grew up together. We're friends," I say, not willing to lie by adding the silent 'nothing more'.

Han looks up at the sky and releases me. My arm tingles where his hand has been.

"It's funny," he says, sounding a bit calmer, calculating, "you never mentioned this friendship when we were doing the briefings. A whole lotta briefings."

He's looking down at me, arms crossed, and he reminds me absurdly of one of my aunts.

"It wasn't relevant," I mumble, aware of how silly that sounds.

"Or you had some reason to hide it," he says, sounding suspicious and not a bit hurt.

Han hurt is an odd sight. He's always so strong, so confident. But, I see the sense of betrayal, just like I see so much else in his eyes.

"Han," I start, "It really isn't—"

But Friedrich is back, sweeping into the the tableau.

Chewie gargles something and I jump, having forgotten he was in earshot.

"I don't like it either, buddy," Han sneers, directing the comment at Friedrich.

I almost roll my eyes. For someone who's constantly bragging about his sabacc face…

"I know it's a bit unorthodox," Friedrich says smoothly, "But the Lueshanti cuisine has so much in common with Alderaanian and, I promise you, I would never put my Princess in danger."

He takes my hand and raises it to his lips. Han steps forward, looking as if he is about to throw one of his punches. I step between the two men, protecting the clueless Friedrich and stopping Han in his tracks. He isn't expecting it and practically barrels into me. A wave of shocked heat crackles through me as I feel his chest against my back, his thighs against my hips.

"We believe you, Friedrich," I manage to get out around the sudden tightness in my throat. "Please, lead the way."

Friedrich gives me a kind smile and Han a slightly bemused look before turning to walk with Chewie through the garden. We don't follow immediately. I don't know what his reason is, but I feel as if I've temporarily lost control of my body. I haven't been this close to him since that night on Yavin. Every muscle is as taught as I remember, his towering height just as overwhelming.

A couple of the Beemers glance over at us, their foreign chatter taking a lascivious lilt. But, it doesn't bother me the way it should.

I feel his breath against my hair and then his voice is in my ear.

"Don't drink anything they give you," he says.

I close my eyes, trying to process this order. His hands are on my shoulders now, gently pushing me forward. Had I said he was warm? It feels more like he's burning hot.

We follow Friedrich to a large room in which pillows and curtains of every shade and color create a beautifully haphazard scene. There are women here too in beautiful gowns that wrap around their bodies and scarves that wrap around their hair. They remind me of a flock of exotic birds, flitting between groups, every so often alighting on a man before flying off again.

Friedrich sits next to me and Han sits across. There is a large low table between us littered with delicacies. Chewie is already digging in, but Han barely touches it, tearing at a few pieces of flatbread on his plate. I can still feel his displeasure, but I take the opportunity to finally talk to Friedrich. The room is swelling with voices and their exuberance covers us.

"What is going on here, Friedrich?" I ask, skipping any further niceties.

He looks at me earnestly, taking a deep breath before deciding to answer.

"I have become a member of the Beemer clan," he replies, simply.

I almost choke on my surprise and have to stop myself from looking over at Han. I know he's looking at me, waiting for some sign of discord.

"What do you mean?" I hiss, "You called me here. Is this a trap?"

I'm horrified and feel my heart rate rise as I think of what this might mean.

"No!" he says looking truly appalled, "No!"

He reaches for a jug in front of him and pours each of us a rose-colored glass. I hold it in my hands but don't sip, Han's recent warming still tickling my ear.

Friedrich drinks and then looks over his shoulder across the room.

"I was a prisoner. I suppose I officially still am. But, I've become engaged."

My head feels light and dizzy, not able to keep up with these revelations.

"To one of the daughters, Tibeera. I know I brought you here under false pretenses, but it was for the good of the Rebellion."

I'm listening now and wishing Han could hear. He could parse this out. But, I have a feeling Friedrich intends this for only my ears.

"The Beemers want to help. Though they keep up appearances, they despise the Empire. They have amazing resources that could aide the cause immeasurably."

I would never have guessed at this turn of events. As I listen to the quiet details of his pitch, I can't help but think Han was right. Things weren't as simple as they appeared.

"Please, Leia, keep this between us until the meeting tomorrow? I wasn't supposed to reveal this news until then."

I want to ask him why, but the voices are quieting down as the main courses are brought to the table. Meats, beautifully roasted and covered in richly scented sauces appear on our table, along with a stunning array of side dishes. I haven't seen this much delicious food since I don't know when. I'm actually unable to remember the last meal I had like this. The food on the base is simple, nourishing but no frills. I look over at Han, wondering if his warning extends to the food, and find him looking back at me.

Usually, I would immediately turn away or start to say something, anything, to break the awkward moment. But in this surreal setting, I shirk my usual habit. His eyes are guarded, but as I continue to hold his gaze, they seem to soften a bit. It's strange to see him in these plush settings. I could almost imagine I was back on Alderaan, and he was some visiting prince or dignitary. What would I have done if he was?

Unbidden, I imagine those spring strolls with him, wandering under the cherry trees. Would he have liked them, reveled in their beauty the way I did? Or would it have all been too sentimental for him, too romantic? Suddenly I'm shocked my aunts let me go on those walks. They seem almost scandalous when I imagine them with Han. Would he have pulled me in and leaned me against the bark? Tucking my hair behind my ear, cupping my cheek, leaning down to…

He glances away and I start, suddenly aware of my train of thought. With burning cheeks, I reach down to fill my plate. He didn't say anything about the food. And I notice he's starting to do the same. The chatter stays at a lower level as everyone starts to eat in earnest.

"So, Captain Solo, was it?" Frederick begins. Small talk. Never Han's forte.

"Yeah," he says warily.

"I haven't heard the name before. From where do you hail, Captain?"

Han pauses for a moment, chewing his food slowly.

"Corellia," he finally mutters around a mouthful of meat.

"Oh, the great planet of Corellia. You're family must have been involved with the ship-building industry then."

"No," Han says.

I feel my stomach start to roil uncomfortably.

"Then the mining industry of course. There are generous mines on Corellia," he explains for my benefit, "How else would you build all those ships?" he jokes.

"No," Han repeats.

I can see his mind working behind those hazel eyes. He's letting the man talk, giving him just enough rope to hang himself.

"Hmmm, Solo, Solo," Friedrich looks up thoughtfully, almost in a pantomime of consideration, "I'm drawing a blank. What did your family do?"

I try to interrupt, but—

"My father was a second-rate shipper who couldn't hold a contract to save his life and my mother was a whore he married at one of his ports. They were either sold to white slavers or left us. My sister and I never figured out which. She left me with a thiever's gang when I was ten and they became my family. Solo of the Pickpockets."

I snap my mouth shut along with Friedrich. I have never heard so much about Han's past before. I knew it most likely wasn't a pretty story, but hearing those sordid details is something different. I feel a hollow pang inside as I wonder why he's chosen this moment to be so honest. Probably just to rattle our prisoner-host.

It works beautifully. Freedick blanches, opening his mouth again before closing it. Then trying once more, he succeeds in speaking.

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"Yes you did," Han says. "What about you, Friedrich? What is it that you do when aren't getting kidnapped and ransomed for money the rebels don't have?"

Friedrich has the grace to ignore the obvious dig here, probably knowing he deserves it. His tone becomes breezy again, as if he his talking to a group of courtiers rather than this scruffy, foul-mouthed pilot and his righthand Wookiee.

"Well before this sorry affair, I was piloting diplomatic missions for the Alliance. Wooing new allies and maintaining key relationships. And before that," he looked wistful, remembering, "Before that, I had great ambition. I was on my way to the Imperial Senate, following in the footsteps of our lovely companion. She was always a little smarter than me."

He smiles charmingly at me, and I offer him a modest smile in return. Though I can't help but feel that this game has gotten a little stale.

"And before that, I was a member of one of the oldest families on Alderaan. Great friends to the Organas and all royal families before them."

Han doesn't look impressed. He stares at Friedrich as if waiting for him to continue.

The silence grows a bit awkward. The last thing I want is to be caught in this tense act of male posturing, but my upbringing has made me abhor awkwardness of any kind.

"Friedrich was one of my father's best aides. Really his protege. We grew up together."

Friedrich's eyes light up, "Yes, I've witnessed her in many stages. Scraping her knees on fences trying to keep up with us, falling in love with that devilish horse of hers, and then blossoming into such a surprising beauty. For a tom boy."

I hit him lightly on the shoulder, and he sniggers like the teenage boy he once was.

Han's face is unreadable, but at least it isn't quite so antagonistic anymore.

"Horses, huh?"

"Yes," I say, sounding wistful now too, "I rode."

"Wish I could see that," Han replies softly.

"She was quite the sight," Friedrich chimes in, a little archly. "Leia could have ridden professionally. She's an incredibly gifted horsewoman. Of course, the nobility of Alderaan has always had its fair share of stellar riders."

Han's eyes cut back to Friedrich and lose a little of their luster.

"Well, when you put it that way."

"Leia had many admirers for her riding skills and her other accomplishments. She still does," he continues, looking at me, "If she didn't want to be working with the rebellion, she wouldn't have to be. There are plenty of...people who would like to offer her a home. Other planets in need of a queen."

The light in Friedrich's eyes is bordering on fanatical and I feel an odd mixture of comfort and offense at his words. I say his name with a slight warning but he holds my gaze. I'm afraid to look across the table at Han and Chewie. No one at the base ever talks this way, about me or about themselves. No one ever talks about other options for their lives. We all at least act as if we are fully committed to the path we have chosen.

For me it isn't an act. I truly believe in this cause, am almost fanatical about it myself. But there are moments, particularly late into the lonely night when I wonder if it would be so bad to fall into someone's arms and leave it all behind.

Friedrich is still looking at me and takes my hand holding it on top of the table directly in Han and Chewie's view.

"I know it's not what you want to hear, Leia. But, I feel I would be remiss in my duties as your father's pupil and friend if I didn't remind you that you have other options. And even if you continue with the Rebellion to see this through, you can still resume your old life on a new planet with a new royal family."

His words are crystal clear and pierce through the murmur around us.

All I want is to stop this conversation if only to stop the tears I feel threatening to break the surface as I remember how wonderful my life once was. Of course I didn't appreciate it at the time. I was headstrong and ambitious, eager to join the universe. Little did I know the universe would hold so much pain and disappointment.

I think of those cherry blossoms and my beautiful Pamila now stardust floating along in the Alderaan system. I know Friedrich is just trying to protect me the way my father would have. I smile at him gently but take my hand away.

"I appreciate you saying that, Friedrich. But, I plan to stay where I am. For now."

Friedrich nods and turns back to his dinner, but not before sparing a glance at our companions across the table. Sometimes I think men have a strange ability to communicate with each other in a way women can't understand. I have this feeling again as I turn back to my plate - that some final statement had passed between the men at the table that I have missed.

The energy shifts and we are blessedly saved from more small talk by a singer approaching our table. He's a young man with a shockingly high voice who sings a soprano ballad that is heartbreakingly beautiful. Really, the night is too much. Too many reminders of a beautiful world I feel I've lost forever. I avoid Han's gaze as I avoid Friedrich's, closing my eyes and listening to the music. I wish I understood the words, but it's a language I have little familiarity with.

I was learning so many languages before joining the Rebellion. I was actually very good at picking them up, a veritable sponge in my Senate days, meeting so many people from across the universe. I didn't always master the accents, but my grasp on vocabulary was always impressive. There is no time for that anymore.

There is no time for so many things.

* * *

After a truly decadent dinner, we make our way back to the Falcon. Han could be persuaded under no circumstances to sleep under their roof. I thought of arguing, looking longingly at their plush pillows, imagining even more sumptuous beds, but the look in Han's eye stopped me. I had a feeling he'd throw me over his shoulder and drag me back to the Falcon whether I liked it or not.

We're set to meet with the Beemer elders tomorrow. Han still doesn't know the whole story, but Friedrich insisted we wait until the official meeting. Even though I don't like keeping this from him, I respect Friedrich's wishes. He must have his reasons.

Not that Han is giving me a chance to confess. He barely looks at me, banging around the Falcon, using the ''fresher then appearing in the common room with a blanket and a pillow under his arm. I'm about to protest. If he thinks I am going to sleep on that hard old acceleration couch he's got another thing—

"Crew quarter's yours. Mine's on the right. I'm sure you'll want to avoid it," he tosses the blanket and pillow on the couch next to me and tromps to the kitchen.

Gods, he's really mad.

I don't know what to do about this. It's late and I'm tired. I also don't quite know what to make of it.

So, I head toward the crew quarters even though part of me lingers in the common area. What is he thinking? Why is he so upset? And why do I care so intensely?

It's dim in his room. My eyes stray to the right, of course. I see a rumpled bed, a few blankets flung haphazardly across it. I can't resist stepping closer, running my hand over the mess. Before I think better of it, I grab one of the blankets and bring it to the middle bed. I crawl onto it, not even bothering to undress. I'll just lie here for a little while…

When I sit up I'm back in the banquet room. Only it's also the base on Yavin IV. I am confused by the combination of colorful pillows and X-wings nosing into the space from all sides. But then my eyes catch on the dancing and I rise, wanting to join. Someone catches me around the middle, and I'm turned to find Friedrich.

He looks younger by a few years and wearing the formal wear he would have on Alderaan. For a moment I feel like a teenage girl again, in the throws of a true crush. He was so sweet to me, so patient and kind. He never seemed threatened by my mind or my ambitions.

I smile at him, enjoying the dance. I can't remember what this one is called but I still know the steps. I look down and am shocked and pleased to find I'm wearing one of my old dresses. It's blue and gold, cascading down in voluminous falls. It reminds me of something…

I look up and see Han across the room. He's watching me. A few dancers come between us and I loose sight of him. Suddenly I'm frantic. I have to find him. Oh gods, where did he go?

"Leia," he whispers against my ear. I should be surprised but I'm not. His hands slip down my shoulders and all the way around, pinning my arms to my sides. It feels like earlier, our accidental contact, but this time it's no accident. This time we are exactly where we want to be.

I don't know where Friedrich has gone, but I don't care. All I care about is the warmth of the man behind me, surrounding me. I can smell him, engine grease, soap and a strangely pleasing organic smell like the woods near the summer castle in late August.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispers so only I can hear.

"Nothing," I say even as I push back into him. I'm not sure what kind of dance we're doing now.

I feel the shake of his head against my own.

"You're killing me," he says, completely serious.

But the music is getting louder, the pulse irresistible. We move against each other. I want to shift my arms, I want to twine them around his neck, seeking some unknown goal. But, he won't let me. He keeps me almost immobile except for the almost involuntary rhythm between us.

"Let me touch you," I sigh. I am shocked by my boldness, but I wait with baited breath.

"No, Leia," he says, firmly. He tightens his grip around me all the same, running his hands across my torso.

"Han…" I breathe. His mouth is on my neck. He doesn't move it, he just presses it once, twice.

"Let me see you," I moan.

He does this, slowly turning me in his arms still keeping me pinned against him. I look up into his face and am shocked by what I see. He looks truly wretched, deep worry lines etched in his face. He's so much older. I notice the gray hair sweeping from his temples up into his crown.

"What happened?" I say, still wanting to reach up into that hair.

"You," he whispers. And then he leans forward and kisses me.

I wake up in that way that brings you to full consciousness in the space of a second. I can still feel his lips on mine. I don't move for a flick, not knowing what to do with that feeling.

My legs are twisted, wrapped around the blanket I purloined from his bed. I take a deep breath and notice the smell, the one from my dream. For a moment, I'm not sure whether to be elated or disgusted. I decide not to feel anything, but lift it to my nose all the same.

Is this what he always smells like? Why haven't I noticed before?

I wonder what time it is. Some internal rhythm tells me it has only been a few hours since I laid down, but I get up and check anyway. The only chrono I know is in the common area. I'm sure Han has one stashed in here, but I don't want to go rooting through his things. Much.

I notice belatedly that I've kept the blanket, wrapped around my shoulders. It reminds me of the feel of him, from today and a few minutes ago. It's comforting somehow.

He's sprawled on the acceleration couch, one leg dangling over the side. It doesn't look uncomfortable, even though his body is decidedly too big for the shape of the couch. I can't help but inch toward him to peer at his face in the dim light. It looks the same as it always does. Young and smooth, with only a hint of the old man he will be one day. A couple little furrows along the brow, a laugh line around his mouth.

Where will he be when that day comes? I don't check my wondering, blaming the ungodly hour.

Will he stay with the rebel fleet or will he disappear one day, never returning from a mission or just bidding them goodbye with a 'been fun'? And when that day comes, whether by his choice or by the dictates of history, where will he go? He's made it clear through recent references and general attitude that he doesn't have a home.

That makes two of us.

Will he never settle down, wandering the galaxy, continuing to build that reputation he's so proud of? Or will he change, as so many do, sanded by the constant, insistent current of time.

Will he marry someone? My heart squeezes at that thought.

At first I think no. He's fated to be a bachelor. That's what he wants.

But then…

He shows his hand sometimes. And all I see are hearts.

The thought is absurd, but I remember all the little things he does. The way he fills a plate for me sometimes, when I forget to eat. His eagerness to show me how to do things, be they small mechanical tasks or larger strategizing. The way he won't leave me alone until I smile for him.

It's strange. Sometimes more obvious displays of affection seem false. But his subtle moves never do. They warm me from the inside out, even though I rarely allow myself to admit that.

I could imagine him acting that way with his child. Showing him the world, tickling her with his fingers and his gentle teasing. I feel a deep longing open up inside of me, and I don't know if it has more to do with the thought of children or him.

Before this war, I had always thought a husband and children were part of my future. It was a requirement really. Yet, I wanted it for myself as well. I am a traditional woman in those ways. But now that my future is so unclear, and most unclear of all is whether I will have one at all, the thought of those things pains me.

"Leia?" I jerk back in surprise, having completely missed his waking.

"I—I'm sorry," I mutter, "go back to sleep."

"What is it?" He's sitting up now, alert, ready to pounce at the first sign danger.

"Nothing, nothing," I can feel my cheeks burning. How long has he been awake?

He frowns at me and rises, heading toward the air lock. I think about fleeing back to the crew quarters, but that strikes me as cowardly. Instead, I breathe in the stillness. Once. Twice.

He returns seeming satisfied. He looks over at the chrono and groans.

"Took me forever to fall asleep on that thing," he says, waving a hand at the couch. "Don't know if I have time to do it again."

The offer is out of my mouth before I have time to reel it back in.

"You can sleep in your bed, Han. I don't mind." It's true. Whatever my conflicted feelings towards this man, I trust him enough for that.

He tilts his head to the side, hand coming up to muss his hair. I've noticed he does that sometimes. Only when he's out of his element, which isn't very often.

He looks back at the couch and grimaces.

"You sure?"

I swallow and nod, feeling anything but.

He looks down at my shoulder and extends his hand to finger the edge of the blanket.

"You weren't in it, were you?" his voice is deep, almost inaudible.

I can't find my voice, so I shake my head. He pulls back and shakes his as well.

"Sorry. Weird dreams. Got me all loopy. Lead the way, Princess."

We make our silent approach to the crew quarters, and I shiver as he reaches around me the palm the door open. With near-comedic efficiency, we make a beeline for our respective beds. I lay down, heart hammering against my chest. I thought I trusted him. Why do I feel so afraid?

I still have the blanket, but it just seems like an old blanket now, having lost whatever magic it possessed before he woke. I turn to face the wall and pray that sleep will come.

* * *

When I wake, he isn't there. Somehow I can feel it before I turn over and peer into his nook. I don't know how long it took me to fall asleep last night, but I feel tired. Too tired for what the day has in store. But, I get up anyway, used to pushing myself to the limit. I don't know the last time I slept in. Maybe the morning after the Battle of Yavin?

I dress in something utilitarian. I had a trunk of things from Alderaan, but it still hasn't shown up. It turns out Rebellions aren't the best at handling luggage. The outfit today is a pale mossy green, shapeless and dull. I walk into the 'fresher and look at myself. Gods, it's been a long time since I've really done that.

The first thing I notice are the circles under my eyes, they look a sickly blueish grey in this light. My skin is so pale. Usually this wouldn't bother me - I've always been careful about my skin - but I look like a ghost. I don't know the last time I spent any stretch of time outside.

What must he think of me?

The thought brushes against me, like an insistent pet wanting attention.

I don't have to specify who he is. When did that happen?

I raise a hand to my cheek and feel it with the back of my fingers, then I touch my lips vaguely remembering something from a dream the night before.

I try to remind myself that I'm a princess, a politician, and now a rebel leader. It doesn't matter what he thinks of me. But, I can't help imagining the women who have come in and out of his life. He's been everywhere really. He must have seen hundreds of them, if not thousands.

He'd have met women who cared how they looked, who spent hours everyday on their coiffure. And that's only the humans. There were some species whose plainest members surpassed even the most beautiful of us.

I find a comb, stashed in a little cabinet and start to run it through my hair. I notice the shower to my left, but I don't have a towel and feel like I should ask before I use it.

Such a little princess.

That's what he said so many moons ago. My mind wants to warp it, use it as further proof of my inferiority. However, I remember his tone of voice. The way his deepened baritone caressed me. He didn't mean it as a bad thing.

I suddenly realize it as I lean against the sink, eyes closed, memory stirring. My hand is paused in my hair, and I almost drop the brush.

I want him.

My eyes pop open and I stare at myself in the mirror with dawning horror.

That's what this is. The fear I feel when he is near, the constant pull, the way my thoughts circle around him like the rings of a planet.

I don't know what to do, so I keep brushing my hair. My strokes are more vigorous now, almost painful.

What - YANK - are - YANK - you - YANK - thinking?

My first instinct is the one that's been bred into me since infancy. He's a commoner, a petty criminal, so far beneath me, it's laughable.

Of course these aristocratic thoughts are followed by a wash of shame. I don't buy any of that anymore. We are all just people. The Alliance has wiped all of the old world hierarchy clean. Only Imperials think the way I just did.

But, if I don't have that, then what do I have?

He's rude, arrogant, irreverent. He doesn't really believe in the cause, he just…

Just what? Why does he stick around then? For the amusement of being hunted by the Empire?

Even if he does care, I've always seen myself with someone so different. A wise man, a kind, generous leader. Like my father. I've met a few of those - Friedrich chief among them. But, as I think of the Alderaanian, I only notice how lukewarm my feelings toward him have become.

I chose to ignore the volcanic need lying just below the surface when I think of someone else.

A knock on the 'fresher door makes me a jump and before I can think, I open it to find Han standing there. He's holding two cups of caf and offers one to me.

I take it, making sure to avoid his fingers, but then my hand shakes a little and he reaches out to steady me. So much worse than if I'd just touched his fingers. I wince and he pulls back, turning away. I think he might have noticed.

I open my mouth to apologize, but nothing comes out. I don't know what to do. I need to quash this, so maybe it's better that he stays mad at me.

"Meeting's in a half an hour," Han says, staring across the room at nothing.

"Right," I say, raising the caf to my lips. It's better than yesterday, richer and exactly what I need. I can feel it brace me, making me stronger, clearing my head.

"Han," I say before I can consider it further. He turns and takes a step closer.

"I have to tell you something before we go in…" I proceed to recount everything Friedrich revealed to me yesterday. Han takes it all in without much change in expression. His face gets a little grimmer, but that's about it.

"Why didn't you tell me this last night?" he says when I have finished my tale and returned to my caf.

"Friedrich didn't want me to say anything," I explain, "But, the more I thought about it, the more I decided it's better that you know."

His lips tighten as if biting into a bitter lemon. He looks decidedly unhappy now.

This annoys me immensely. I feel that same heat but redirected now, to a much safer emotion.

"I thought you'd be happy," I say, voice sharpening.

"Happy you thought I was worth it to clue in?" He snaps.

I open my mouth in disbelief. "I broke my word to Friedrich to tell you."

Han rolls his eyes and tries to cross his arms, but is foiled by the caf. It's a little bit funny.

"Friedrich, the guy who disappeared from the Alliance under mysterious circumstances and turns up as a newly inducted member of one of the most notorious crime families in the galaxy."

It does sound suspect the way he says it, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let him know that.

"Friedrich is a good man. He's from a great family, he served my father and our planet. At least he's…"

"What?" Han said, dangerously.

I was going to say something nasty, but I hold it back on the tip of my tongue. No matter how scared I am of this new revelation, I don't really want to hurt him.

"Alderaanian," I finish, lamely.

"Alderaan doesn't exist anymore," Han says.

I feel the statement hit my chest, perhaps the mark it was intended for.

"But it always will for you, won't it?"

I can't tell if the question is rhetorical or not.

He almost turns away, eyeing the door as an escape, but then-

"You trust him more than me. Even though he's a traitor. Even though I've been with you the whole last year. Why?"

The tables are turning too fast. I suddenly feel like a villain.

"I-I don't know."

He does turn away now, muttering his reply as he retreats.

" _I_ know."

* * *

The meeting goes well, exceedingly well. Though the family may obtain their power from questionable means, they are generous with the ends. Rather than leaving poorer, we are leaving richer. We have been given boxes of credit, and the names of some of the family's most useful connections. We'll be better outfitted than we have been in a long time.

There is a slightly tense moment when they pass around a tray of cups and ask us all to drink. Friedrich explains that this is a special wine that 'discourages the drinker from telling untruths'. Every one of the elders takes a healthy swig, and I realize that Han must have known about this Beemer tradition. He is outside the door, partially unwelcome and partially unwilling to play a part in the negotiations. I take a small sip, feeling absurdly guilty as I do.

The Beemer elders assure us of Friedrich's safety and we even meet his fiancé Tabeera. She is truly stunning and brings to mind the kinds of women I was comparing myself to this morning. It seems like ages ago when in fact it's only been a few hours since that encounter in Han's quarters. He has been professional, finally dropping his martyr routine, but our interactions are colder, lacking their usual heat. I know this should be what I want. I know it. And I will keep reminding myself of that until it feels like it's true.

Friedrich comes with us to the gate, this time truly alone. Though as I glance up at the darkened windows of the compound, I imagine invisible eyes watching our every move. Han and Chewie are laden with boxes, but Han gives him a stiff nod before turning to the Falcon.

"We're gonna load these up, Princess. We'll leave soon as you're on board."

I am a bit surprised at his leniency. I'd expect him to give me time limit.

Without a backward glance, he starts toward the ship. Feeling as if an is anchor tugging at my center, I watch him to retreat. I want this. I want this.

Friedrich clears his throat and I startle, facing him again.

"That's a strange pair," he says, titling his head towards Han and Chewie, now out of earshot.

I feel my hackles rise a bit, but nod anyway. Whatever they are, they are certainly strange.

"Friedrich, are you sure about this?" I ask, speaking quietly lest we be overheard.

He smiles beatifically and takes my hands. "This is my place, Leia."

I frown at him a bit. Part of me envies the sentiment and wouldn't want to take that away from him. But...

"They are very hospitable, surprisingly kind. But Friedrich, you know-"

He shakes his head. Apparently, I'm not wrong about the ears and eyes.

After a thoughtful breath he says, "I'm not cut out for rebel life, Leia. I was raised in castles, like you. Besides, nothing is black and white."

I'm not satisfied with his answer, in fact it makes me feel a little sick. I think of Han, who rushes into danger and discomfort no matter how much he resents it. My eyes seek out the subject of my thoughts, but he's already on board, nowhere to be seen.

"He watches you," Friedrich says.

"Who?" I say, already knowing.

"Your pilot. His eyes follow you everywhere you go."

I shake my head, heat creeping up my neck.

"Be careful, Leia," Friedrich continues, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Your father isn't here to protect you anymore. Men like that..."

Shrugging his hand off, I rebuff him. "Men like that are the bravest, most fearless men I know."

He feels the sting and steps away.

"And I don't need my father to protect me. I'm doing a fine job of that myself."

He nods, looking chastened.

"You're right, Princess. Of course. It's hard to shake our customs even though our world is gone. I must admit, I would never want to see the heir to the throne of Alderaan with...someone beneath her."

The words strike me hard as they are such a perfect echo of my earlier thoughts. A thousand responses swirl in my head, but only one makes it out.

"Alderaan doesn't exist anymore."

With that, I kiss him on the cheek and walk away.

I don't look back.


End file.
